Grey Fish
by Tardisblueskys
Summary: The first rule of being an Angel: don't break the rules.
1. Jerk, Bitch

**Jerk, Bitch:**

A slash, a punch, a shot of pure light. There were screams, and for a second he was torn away from his fight with Michael by his own worry for his brothers.

Ashen murals of the wings of former brothers littered the ground. They overlapped each other, as brother died atop brother. Some ashes stuck to the skin of other Angels, scars that would stay with them until the dawn of time or at least to death. Both Dark and Light Winged alike would bear those marks. The Dark Winged wouldn't bear them for long.

He screamed as Michael slashed at him while he was distracted. One of the Black Wings moved to help his fellow unwitting rebel, and only succeeded in being vaporized by the pure power of the two Archangels.

"Lucifer," Michael wasn't tiring, and neither was he. His voice didn't even seem winded. "You have to stop this. Just bow to them." He sounded as if he was begging. In different circumstances Lucifer would have laughed at him for doing such an act. Now, it just made him mourn. Mourn for what would have to happen if his Father didn't stop this.

"They are flawed! They're murderous! They would exile themselves for an apple!" Lucifer yelled, dodging a cut from his brother, and attempting his own. This time, Michael screamed, as the sword collided with a weak plate in his armor.

His Grace illuminated the battlefield, growing stronger as his anger increased.

And it did. It grew more and more powerful, with every brother that died. Any Angels within 100 feet of them burned to a crisp from the light that he was radiating.

He saw a lone figure, Dark Winged, who was the only one of such a shade to not be his ally. The figure fumbled with its knife, and yet still managed to stab one of its kin in the back. Somehow, even as it tried to hide it's emotion Lucifer could somehow sense what it felt.

Guilt. Endless guilt.

The figure was a fledging. No fledging should know the feel of a blade in the back of your brother.

And yet the figure, Castiel, dodged another knife and stabbed yet another of Lucifer's allies in the back.

Lucifer couldn't hate him. He should have, but he could never hate his own family. He just wished this could stop.

Why couldn't Father see the truth? Humans were evil, sinful beasts. To bow to any of them was blasphemy. Wasn't his trick with Eve proof enough of that?

"Lucifer, brother, please! Stop this now!" The flaming sword shot a ball of fire at his face. Lucifer's wings instantly moved to block the shot. He screamed, hiGrace glowing with intensity, as it made connection with them.

Feathers burned away, lost to the heat of the flame. He flapped the appendages insanely, trying to put out the fire that was eating away at him. Already, they tried to regrow in an attempt to heal the hashing wound that had already formed on his now-uncovered and unprotected skin. Newly scorched feathers and bits of skin slipped to the ground, useless forever more. Michael stopped attacking, hoping this would make him see sense.

The flapping soon put out that horrible blaze, and the feathers came to replace them. The worst thing was that they weren't the normal grey of his wings. The new shade was pitch black. Darker than any he's seen before. As his wings beat, he started to notice the few other feathers across the array of them that were, in fact, just as dark.

He had to acknowledge, there was no way he couldn't, that these were all new.

Then he stopped for a second, simply to think. An Angels wings were the summary of everything they were.

What was he becoming?

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He had to stop Michael. He had to make God see sense. Maybe if he could defeat his brother, his Father would realize?

He shot a blast of something out of his sword (Was that fire? Only Michael's sword could shoot fire), and Michael was able to dodge. The other Angel shook his head, sadly.

"Last chance, Lucifer. Just this once, bow. Don't do this to us. Look at how many die for you!" And he had. He kept looking. He couldn't stop. His brothers and sisters, dead because his Father was selfish and too proud to think over his actions.

Millions of scorched bodies decorated the battlefield. Allies stepped over dead allies, rushing to attack their enemies. Sibling stepped over sibling. And yet, For every one of Lucifer's force, there were three of Michael's that hadn't even seen battle yet.

There was no chance he could win this.

He could still turn back.

No more had to die.

"I'm sorry, Michael." And the second born grinned, thinking Lucifer had finally seen sense.

Lucifer lunged, and succeeded in stabbing his brother's right wing. Michael screamed, and Grace flowed out of the wound as mortal blood would. It tried, so desperately hard, to heal the wound. It couldn't. Grace couldn't heal a wound caused by an Angel blade.

Enochian chanting could be heard from the sky. Words from an absent Father. Lucifer wasn't paying attention to them. Michael, however, was. And he obeyed them.

Michael grabbed his brother's sword, and pulled it away from Lucifer's hand. A second later, he dropped to the ground, and radiated his power into it, forging a hole into the ground. Crumbling rock fell to the Earth at a million miles an hour.

He hid all emotion, all pain. Lucifer still looked ready to attack, even without his blade.

"Lucifer," Michael said, in a tone that Lucifer had never heard before. "I will do as the Lord has commanded. You and all of your followers are banished from the kingdom of Heaven." And in the place that every Dark Wing, save for the one that was not, rock crumbled underfoot and sent that Angel tumbling to the Earth below.

Lucifer, in a fit of rage, launched himself at Michael in an attempt to stop him from continuing to cast out all of these men. Michael sidestepped, and Lucifer missed him. And then, just as it did to his fallen allies, the ground collapsed under him, and Lucifer tumbled into the not-so-quiet sky.

His followers were screaming.

So was Lucifer.

_(A/N Hello! Welcome to the story. I'm planning on making this a series about the Angels, mostly focusing on Castiel and the Archangels. This'll also include a lot of fledging!Angels. There'll also be some of 'minor' Angels like Anna and Samandriel._

_If you see any spelling errors, please tell me. My Ipod likes being an idiot and autocorrecting things._

_Thanks for reading and don't forget to review.)_


	2. Don't Step On That Fish

**Don't Step On That Fish:**

Earth was interesting. There was so much life, so many creatures that lived on its surface. Each and every insect didn't have to have a purpose. Most could have disappeared off of the planet, and no one would have noticed. No one would have cared.

Castiel liked that. Sometimes he thought the same thing of himself. It wasn't as if he seemed to have a divine purpose. He was just a Seraph. That was all he had ever been. He didn't have a title. He didn't have a job.

He was like that lone fish that swam around, solely to swim. He was like that single blade of grass, pointed to the North instead of West like the others. He was like the one cloud in the sky that didn't look like a fish.

He liked that. It meant that he didn't have to live up to the expectations of Heaven. He didn't have to train his Garrison to become a soldiers, just so they could die in Armageddon, and they all knew that they probably would. He didn't have to stand by Uriel in each and every practice fight, as they tried to keep each other alive against whatever creature was thrown at them.

He could just be at peace with God's creations. That was a gift in itself. If he ever met his Father, he would have to thank him for that moment.

The other fledgings seemed bored with the trip, talking to each other about how they wanted to leave.

Their superior, Mumiah, seemed contented to watch one of the fish in the river, a lone grey fish that didn't look as the others did. Tiny stubs poked out of it's sides. They didn't seem like it could hold the fish's weight if it tried to walk, but they still looked like tiny legs. He walked over to it, trying to get a closer look. He almost stepped into the river to see.

When he tried to, he was pushed back, immediately. He tried again and it was as if there was an invisible barrier holding him back. After two more tries, he heard a single voice echo across the river.

"Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish." Mumiah told him, without a single trace of emotion in his voice. All of them had been trained to forget emotion. No one wanted to end up like the legions of Angels who had.

"What plans?" Castiel asked, studying the fish that from then on seemed so important.

"One day, it will walk out of that water, Castiel. It will make way for a new era of creation. It will become a species that rivals our own, Castiel." The fledgling almost thought that he heard excitement in his Superiors voice, if that were even possible.

"A fish will become that? How?"

"You'll see. You and I will be there for it. God's greatest creations will soon walk the Earth."

"All thanks to a fish?" Castiel asked.

"All thanks to a fish."

"I do not understand."

"God does, and He is the only one that needs to." Mumiah said.

"Why do you know this if only Father understands?"

"Castiel, you do not need to understand His ways to know them."

"Why do you know this if even God is still planning it?"

"I am the Angel of Life. I know how all life was created, and I know how it shall end. I know how every story will be played out." Mumiah reached through his own barrier to dip a small piece of his Grace into the water. The second it touched the fish, the stubs grew longer than before. The fish kicked the weak limbs, sending it moving even faster than before.

"Even that grey fish?"

"Even that grey fish." The Angel affirmed.

"Even Michael?" Mumiah's face became grim, the instant that Castiel said the Archangel's name.

"Especially Michael." For millions of years, Castiel would wonder what that meant. He would only come to understand in a quiet underground cave, surrounded by something called a 'Kirk cosplay', a 'Chekov' and something called a 'Spock'.

For all that time in between, Castiel would wonder what Mumiah meant by that one terrifying word.

Why 'especially'?

"You'll understand eventually, Cas," Cas? What did that mean? His name was Castiel. He was definitely not 'Cas'. To call him that was to be against the very name his Father gave to him. That, was unacceptable. "For now, just don't step on that fish. Remember that. Big plans for that fish."

And Castiel would remember. He always would. He would never forget it. Even when there was nothing else that he could remember, he would always hear a faint voice, whispering about a fish and plans.

_(A/N How could I leave out the grey fish? That would be an unforgivable crime! Just like not doing a one-shot on that Star Trek moment. It's coming, don't worry._

_I try to make sure all the Angels are actually accurate, so hopefully the site I use was right about Mumiah being an Angel.)_


	3. No One Makes Us Die, But Luci

**3. No One Makes Us Die, But Luci:**

The handle of a blade, poked out of the chest of his brothers vessel. The newly formed ashes of once great wings stained the ground. Six words echoed in the silent room. Words that he had known were true for most of his life. Words that, from what he'd heard, only he ever thought.

And then they were spoken. By his very brother, at what Gabriel had to have known was the end of everything he knew, he did one last thing. He made one last stand to the brother that had done so much wrong.

"No one makes us do anything."

No, they didn't. Did they? God hadn't been around for a very long time. Who gave the Angels orders? The Archangels? They're just children of a Lord, not Lords themselves. The Angels didn't have direct orders, for the first time.

Who made them do anything?

For the longest time, Lucifer wished people would realize that. That that was true. That no one controlled them, no one had to. It used to be such a comforting thought to him.

Now, it was terrifying.

Because if no one controlled him, then he had free will. Free will that he'd just used to kill his brother. It was him, no one else, that drove that blade into his brother. Gabriel was dead because of him alone.

He wasn't lying when he said that he loved his brothers. Was he? What loving sibling could drive a knife into his sibling. That wasn't love. That was hatred that Lucifer denied ever having.

Hatred he thought was impossible to ever feel.

Yet here he was. Standing over the ill-fated corpse of a brother, who he'd claimed to love, who had met his demise at Lucifer's very hand.

Were he human, he may have cried. Were he an Angel, he may have mourned. But he wasn't. He was a Fallen Angel. A Devil. Satan.

Satan wasn't supposed to mourn. Satan never felt guilt. He just blamed someone else.

It was Father's fault. He shouldn't have started that War by casting Lucifer out. He shouldn't have pitted sibling against sibling. He should have let

Lucifer stand as the others bowed.

Look at the cost for that horrible decision. The wreckage of the ship that God had crashed. The bundle of roots caused by a single flower. The flower that sprouted into something horrible.

_Just like Lucifer did._

Raphael was dead.

Gabriel was dead. Half of Heaven was dead.

The humans were tasting true chaos.

Either Michael or Lucifer would be alone soon. The last Archangel.

God was missing.

Their family was torn apart.

Sam Winchester, the (and he had to admit it) abomination was living.

All his Father's fault. All because a man who thought he knew everything didn't know one simple thing.

He wasn't perfect. If those disgusting humans were born in his image, how great could God be? For every one human that helped someone, there was another that was ready to bomb them. Even the one that helped was doing it solely to brag, later on.

Was that what God did? Created the universe just so it would bow to Him? Just so

He could brag that He had done it, now worship Him!

How sick a creature to create just for pride! Lucifer didn't feel pride when he created Demons. They were a anomalies, monsters. He created them in the image of men that didn't have to hide their evil to praise their God. He created them out of the sins every human possessed. They accepted that. God didn't. He cast him out of Heaven for that.

This is God's fault. God killed Gabriel. Not Lucifer. Lucifer was a good brother. He was defending himself. He wouldn't have had to kill Gabriel had God not cast him out. If God hadn't told them to kill him. If God hadn't led

Gabriel, his own son, down the road that ended only in pain.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault.

It never was. It was always God's fault. He still loved what God created, but he couldn't love the man himself anymore. At least Michael felt guilt. At least

Michael was forced to cast him out. God wasn't.

God killed his brother.

God ruined everything.

God killed Gabe.

(_A/N haha, funny story. After a week of trying to write a single one of these, in a day I completed another. This is why I'm unreliable.)_


	4. Everybody Hates Dung

**Everybody Hates Dung**

"Watch over this tower, Castiel." Raphael stated, raising his voice in an attempt to speak over the rising voices on the Angel Radio. Castiel wasn't even tuned in, and he could hear the panicked voices of his siblings. "I must deal with something in Heaven."

"What is it?" The fledging asked.

"Gabriel has gone missing. I must find him. Be sure to keep this tower safe, Castiel. Do you understand?" Raphael debating shutting off the Radio if the other Angels didn't quiet down quickly.

"Yes. Did they check the temple?" Raphael didn't reply. In a flutter of wings he was gone.

So Castiel did what any fledging would do, he sat down, leaning against the Tower of Bebel and watched the people run back and forth, going about their daily business. Some were still carrying the piles of dry dung to the tower. Others were bringing water to the workers. Others were working on other buildings, or tended to livestock. None of them took notice of the fledging in a very small vessel, who watched over the tower.

And Castiel was happy about that. It made it easier to watch them. He might even make Raphael proud this time!

He had to admit, the job was partially boring. There seemed to be no one who was interested in destroying the building. No human attempted to do anything that wasn't completely dull. All they did was stack dried dung. Then some more dried dung. Then even more.

Though, he wouldn't lie and say that the building, a 37 foot tall tower, wasn't a marvel to look at. Sure, in Heaven there was a church that, no matter how high he flew, he could never see the ceiling of. This was different. This was made by humans. He didn't even know humans knew how to build towers, let alone ones this tall. To Castiel, it was the most amazing thing possible.

He wondered how Lucifer could hate creatures like these. Creatures that, even with such short lifespans, could create towers like that. To Castiel that rivaled those in Heaven for the sheer work it took for the humans

While Heavenly places of worship could be made with a snap of an Angel's fingers, humans used effort. Hundreds of them would work on it. People had to farm the livestock. They had to collect the dung. Then, they'd give it to the workers. The workers would bring it to other workers, who in turn would put it on the tower.

It took so much effort that it amazed the young Angel. He only put that much work into anything when he was training. He couldn't keep that up forever, and the humans did. It amazed him.

He would have thought on that subject for a longer time, if he hadn't noticed something on the very top of the tower. One of the edges of it was in danger of collapsing. A small thing, but it would be dangerous for anyone who happened to walking underneath it when it finally hit the ground. It might even make a chain reaction and hinder the building even further. Castiel didn't want any of those workers to be harmed. He didn't want anyone to be harmed, worker or not. He didn't want the tower to be destroyed.

So he did what any Angel (or so he thought) would do. He left his vessel, and he went to the edge that was collapsing.

He stretched his wings out, intending to catch the structure if it fell. Though, he had to ensure that it didn't in the first place. That was the best way to keep the tower safe, as Raphael had instructed.

He lit a small fire in his hand, intended to weld the dung together. Then a worker screamed for some reason (he wouldn't know it for 25,000 years but his fire was visible), and his concentration slipped.

The fire caught. It spread.

Within seconds, an entire portion of the tower was alight. Castiel struggled to summon water (which, for a fledging, was hard enough) to put out the flame. It was too late.

He flew to the edge of the blaze, and summoned the liquid. Smoke filled the sky as he fought, single handedly against the fire. When the sky became black, and Castiel began to lose the war with the blaze, he sensed the presence of one of his brothers by his side.

"Castiel!" His brother, Nathaniel, screamed. "What happened?"

Castiel was too tired to respond, and he just kept summoning the useless spray of water. It was pointless. The entire building was on fire.

It was a miracle no other Angels had seen the burning tower. Maybe they were too preoccupied with Gabriel, but had none of them gotten curious? Even through Castiel's struggles, the ocean of red and orange could, and did, light up the entire sky. It illuminated the black that the Heavens had taken as the smoke rose. It had licked at Castiel even as he worked, earning him severe burns everywhere on his Grace.

"This is burning me," Nathaniel muttered, as he helped to fight it. It was then that the realization hit him. Holy fire. "Castiel, what have you done?"

No wonder only Castiel had been there. The Angels would have feared being caught by the flames.

"Come, Castiel, we must go!" Nathaniel said, to the still-working fledging.

"We have to stop this!" Castiel finally stated. He didn't stop spraying the water that didn't seem to have such a steady flow anymore.

"It's too late!" The Angel yelled, wrapping an arm around the fledging.

His brother struggled, but it was too late. In a second, they were safely in Heaven. In an hour, that amazing tower was a pile of charcoal.


	5. Falling Was The Only Crime

**Falling Was The Only Crime**

Heaven was in an uproar. Angel was turning against Angel as they realized what might be to come. God wasn't giving out any orders, anymore. The Archangels were panicking. Lucifer wasn't going near his three closest brothers. All of Heaven was panicking at the prospect of what he was doing. No Archangel had ever abandoned the others before.

Multiple times each day, Castiel had to quiet down his Garrison. The group of fledgings, the only type of group he was allowed to lead, was split down the middle over God's orders.

It wasn't the first time something like that had happened either. When God had banned passage to Earth without vessels, almost all of Heaven was opposed to it.

Gradually, they came to accept it, but Castiel was worried.

The last time it had happened, it seemed as if Angels were going to go to war with each other. This time, it seemed almost definite.

The Seraph, Castiel, wasn't very sure about his opinion on the issue of humans.

He would bow to them if God ordered him to, but he didn't think he could love anyone more than Father. It seemed an impossible prospect. He would try, though.

He didn't understand why bowing to them was such a hard concept to grasp.

Michael and Raphael had visited his Garrison before, to inform them of Father's new rule. At the time, there were so many gasps, groans, and yells that Michael himself had to quiet them.

A year later, and many of his fledgings still hadn't bowed. Castiel had kneeled, in front of his whole Garrison, simply to show them that if a Seraph was willing to do so, so should they be.

Acheliah had protested for months, publicly insulting his Seraph for bowing to such 'lowly creatures'. He talked often about how pathetic the humans were, and how weak.

The only reason he's stopped was because Zikiel had caught him killing his vessels after he left them, and came to Castiel to report on the actions. After a few angry threats, and an intense one-sided attack, Acheliah stopped protesting the humans. When he bowed, his wings turned lighter than they had been in months.

The change inspired Castiel to examine the wings of the other Angels. Those who bowed had the same Wings that they'd always had. Light colored, beautiful wings that seemed to be solid. Those who didn't had dark grey wings that seemed to fade from existence every time he wasn't looking. They were scruffy and ragged, as if the fledging had flown through a forest of cactuses.

He even noticed that, unconsciously, he and the other lighter winged Angels had stayed as far as they could from the darker wings. Whenever one came near, his grip on his Angel blade would become just a little bit tighter. During an assembly of the Garrison, the field would be split down the middle. Dark Wings on the left, Light Wings on the right. Unnoticeable changes, unless you were looking. And not many noticed that. Castiel was one of the few.

Every day, Castiel would pray to the Father for help. He had to know what was happening. He had to know why his soldiers were changing as they were. Why they were turning into something he didn't want them to be. Every day, Castiel would pray. Every day, he would get no response.

Sometimes Gabriel would come, and warn the fledgings what would happen if they didn't bow. They could have been cast out of Heaven.

Of course, the fledgings were too young to have known of the Leviathan. They didn't believe their Father could ever cast out his creations. They ignored Gabriel's warnings. Their wings grew darker.

After another six months, and the beginning of a distinct difference between the Light and the Dark Winged became known, he began to hear whispers. That Lucifer was preparing potential followers. That he was trying to convince people that God was wrong. Yet, the Father did nothing about it. He allowed his son to spread such blasphemies.

Some began to speculate. They claimed the Archangels lied, and God had died long ago. Or that God hadn't existed at all, and the Archangels had made him up in an attempt to gain power. That another, more powerful, being had been overthrown by the four brothers and he had been God. After all, no one, but the four in question, had ever seen their Father.

Any Angel who declared such remarks instantly earned a pair of pitch black wings. Anyone who earned them didn't seem to care.

A few of Castiel's Garrison had those incredibly dark wings. They often stood in front of the grey wings, almost serving as their leaders. They were the ones that seemed closest to being cast out. Castiel had a feeling that they would be, and soon.

And when he began to fear that God had forgotten him, and was ignoring his prayers on purpose, Castiel earned another sign in that idea's favor. Lucifer came to visit his Garrison during a meeting.

The Archangel preached, and worked to convince the fledging Angels that God was wrong. That humans were sinners, all of them.

Some of the remaining Light Wings gradually had a change in color over the course of the assembly. The others watched in horrid disgust.

Castiel left the meeting to question a fellow Seraph, about a day into the lecturing. He found that Lucifer was only targeting fledgings. Children. The most easily corruptible. He was manipulating them.

When he came back, he saw a crowd that had mostly Dark Wings. They were gazing at Earth, at a single human in particular. A human with white eyes and a sickening smile that made Castiel want to run and hide. He didn't, of course. He was a Seraph. He had an image that he had to maintain.

That didn't stop the other fledgings from hiding behind trees, in mixed states of confusion and terror.

Castiel called out Lucifer and told him to leave.

And his brother left him with a terrified Garrison.

A week later, Michael told Lucifer that they had a meeting with God.

And a week later, a third of Heaven was gone.


	6. Caw, Caw

**Caw, Caw:**

From the instant that they are born, Angels look to the sky. They were born to be there. The ground was unwelcoming, evil, to a newly created fledging. The sky was welcoming, kind. An Angel's first thought was always the same. It wanted up.

Even with such primitive, incorrect words, they could all express the same thing. They wanted to fly.

Some, the Archangels, could fly from birth. The second that those words entered their minds, they'd take to the sky. Others, Seraphs, took a year for their wings to develop enough to fly. Cherubs and Cupids often took a decade to be able to so much as have control of their wings. It was one of the reasons that a newborn Castiel was pleased to be a Seraph.

The year itself was torture. Every day, Castiel would look up and see an older brother, whizzing through the air at speeds faster than he could process. He would flap useless wings, that were too small to fly and too big to easily fight with, and he would just keep walking down the green pasture.

He always wished that it would turn blue.

His wings would trail behind him, useless and pathetic.

He'd have sold his Grae to be able to fly. To be like the other Seraphs. He was the youngest. He was the only one who was grounded. He was alone.

Sure, there were other fledgings who he would occasionally see. They always left, the moment that they saw him. They feared Seraphs, the Angels that controlled them. Even a fledging still had power over the fully grown Cherubs.

The other Seraphs were too busy to take care of the lone child.

Castiel was lonely. He was always lonely. His life was dull, boring. He couldn't even reach the most beautiful places in Heaven. God created him too far away from them. The only way he could reach them was to fly.

Flight was the sign of maturity. The moment that an Angel took flight, they could join, or control a Garrison, depending on their rank. They could reach new places. They could go to Earth, even if at the time it was only a molten ball of lava. Flight opened up new opportunities.

And Castiel's Grace wasn't big enough yet. He was too small to actually move his wings easily enough to avoid crashing.

At six months old, he gave up waiting. He had to fly. He had to understand what it was like.

So he walked to the base of a cliff. He spread his wings. He jumped. He fell.

Angels that heard his cries for help over the Angel radio, gathered him up and brought him to Raphael's place of work. He was too young to know how to heal himself. Two of his brothers showed him, as they fixed him.

When he was fully healed, a minute later, the Angels took him back to where they'd found him. They told him not to try that again.

So he didn't. For about a day. Then the urge became too much, and his instincts were screaming at him too loudly.

He jumped again. He fell again. He healed himself. He jumped again.

It was a never ending cycle of pain. He had often seen higher ranking Angels (Gabriel, more often than not) watching him. Sometimes they give him advise. His posture was wrong. He had to bend his knees. He wasn't flapping right.

One day, he was able to glide for six seconds straight. He could make out the feeling of wind sliding through each individual feather. One of his sisters screamed encouragement at him.

He felt at peace.

Then the wind stopped coming, and he hit the ground.

Gabriel smirked, as he sent a Cupid to check on Castiel. The Cupid approached wearily, fearing what would happen if the Seraph was angered while he was near.

Instead, when he helped to lift his fallen brother, there was a very pleased expression on his face.

"That felt nice." Castiel stated. He stretched his wings out again, hoping to catch a bout of wind against his wings. It didn't come.

"Come on, pipsqueak, you gotta do better than that!" Gabriel told him as he moved back to the cliff.

"I will." He said it, completely sure of himself. He would do as ordered. He would fly.

He gathered his wings, and all of his Grace. He stepped back, and flexed his sore appendages. Even an Angel could get sore if it was constantly abusing itself for five straight months.

He took a running start towards the edge, and then he let instinct take over.

Apparently, his instinct wasn't very good, because he didn't glide at all. He just fell.

* * *

No one was around when he succeeded. He was alone. He didn't have anyone to watch him. The others had left because of a call for an assembly of all Garrisons. Something about the Leviathan. Castiel hadn't gone, because he didn't have a Garrison, and so wasn't called. That, and flightless Angels with no training couldn't fight.

His siblings could deal with the Leviathan. He wasn't ordered to go, so he didn't.

He was happy about that.

Because feeling wind flowing through his wings and Grace was enough to satisfy him. Flying away from that cliff made him happy. Seeing all of the Angels below made him grin. It was true happiness.

Over the next year, he practiced landing, and taking off, and perfecting his flight. While his siblings fought and died, Castiel flew. Sometimes, he would drop bones onto the heads of Leviathan when he visited a battle. Sometimes he would hold blades out and cut the heads off of the beasts as he went. He was always flying, when he fought.

When Gabriel first saw him in the air, he grinned. Castiel would never forget the words the Archangel had said to him.

"There you go. I told Lucifer you weren't an idiot."

He didn't forget them, because he had never before known Archangels to compliment someone.


	7. We Picked The Wrong Father of Lies

9. We Picked the Wrong Father of Lies

It had, of course, been a ploy. The entire thing was a setup. Adam Milligan was not, in any circumstance, Michael's vessel. He could barely hold the Archangel for a day, let alone the battle of Armageddon.

So when Sam Winchester said yes, Michael was afraid. He thought Dean would fail him. He thought he would fail his father. For a second, he thought Lucifer would win. He truly did.

An hour later, Lucifer came to him. Even Lucifer didn't want to fight the final battle, when it wasn't a fair fight. It seemed that both of them wanted this to be worth something. If this was to be their last 'Sunday dinner', in the words of Gabriel, they would be equals. His brother spoke of a plan so ingenious that Michael had to follow it.

They met in an old, abandoned field in the middle of nowhere. As they waited, Lucifer tried to convince Michael, one last time, to join his side. The Archangel refused, as he always had.

Lucifer fought back, but this time he was less energetic about it. He'd been expecting that.

Then Dean Winchester arrived, and Michael almost grinned.

They'd expected that too.

"Hey, we need to talk." Dean said, leaning against the Impala. He acted like this hadn't been expected. He looked so sure of himself.

"Dean, even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid." Lucifer said. It was, in fact, true. It didn't matter though. In some ways, Dean Winchester could be insanely smart. In others, he shows up to Armageddon with a Chevy and a six pack.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Sam."

"You're no longer the vessel, Dean. You got no right to be here." It was almost painful to spit out such a lie. Michael was not like his brothers. He couldn't lie so easily. It was hard to be so false, when you're made to be perfect.

"Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I'm so sorry." This ignorance of the Angels inside the vessels was getting annoying.

"Adam isn't home right now." True. He'd sent him to his mother, just as he'd promised. He didn't lie like Zachariah. Just like he didn't lie when he said he'd kill Zachariah if he failed. Luckily, Dean did it for him.

"Well, then you're next on my list, buttercup. But right now, I need five minutes with him." Dean said, seeming to be in complete control of the situation. He was getting on Michael's nerves.

"You little maggot. You are no longer a part of this story!" He had to get back to the plan. All he had to do was get Dean here, and start the fight with Lucifer. Then, maybe-

"Hey, Assbutt!" And everything was on fire.

He came back into existence to find Dean and Lucif- no, Sam together. Sam had the rings in his hands. That was right about when the plan fell apart.

Sam dropped the rings on the ground and started chanting in Enochian (Who taught him Enochian?)

"Sam! It's not gonna end this way! Step back!" He pleaded. He couldn't fail. He couldn't fail his Father. If he did, he would never be forgiven. He couldn't do that to Heaven.

"You're gonna have to make me!" Sam said. He couldn't. Unlike his brothers and sisters, he had qualms about hurting humans. He couldn't do that to them. They were innocents, right? Heaven doesn't hurt innocents.

"I have to fight my brother, Sam! Here and now! It's my destiny!" Michael pleaded, knowing it wouldn't get through to the Winchester.

Sam leaned back, and Michael rushed to grab him. He couldn't fail.

Sam grabbed hold of him, and they fell into the pit. It was over. The plan failed.

'_Please, Michael. Yes, dammit. Yes. Just bring back my brother. Michael? Bring him back. Michael!'_

Michael and Dean Winchester were linked. They always would be. Michael could hear Dean's every thought. He always had.

So when he heard that prayer, he smiled. The plan hadn't failed. It worked.

Dean Winchester just did his part far too late.

Lucifer laughed about that for the next millennia.


End file.
